"Pardon, Highness," said Lord Hastings, "but I am an ill man. I
cannot rise from this couch."
"I do not question the gravity of your disorder," the Queen retorted,
"since it is well known that the same illness brought about the death
of Iscariot. Nevertheless, I bid you get up and lead our troops
against the Scot."
Now the hand of the Marquess veiled his countenance. "I am an ill
man," he muttered, doggedly. "I cannot rise from this couch."
There was a silence.
"My lord," the Queen presently began, "without is an army
prepared--yes, and quite able--to defend our England. The one
requirement of this army is a leader. Afford them that, my lord--ah, I
know that our peers are sold to the Bruce, yet our yeomen at least are
honest. Give them, then, a leader, and they cannot but conquer, since
God also is honest and incorruptible. Pardieu! a woman might lead
these men, and lead them to victory!"
Hastings answered: "I am ill. I cannot rise from this couch."
"There is no man left in England," said the Queen, "since Sire Edward
went into France.
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